


Alone In A Room

by writing_regen



Series: Holding The Universe Together Across My Shoulders [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Introspection, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Revelations, Self-Hatred, Shes SAD, Shes in Monopoly Jail with her lil Kazoo, Space Jail Babey, but shes so so tired, but trying to be strong, fall out of that revelation, not knowing who you are, she said it made her stronger but thats easy to say in the moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_regen/pseuds/writing_regen
Summary: It had been easy, then, with adrenaline pumping through her veins and panic and outrage coloring her sight red and hands shaky, to say that it was a gift, that the multitudes of unknowns in her hearts and mind had opened a whole new world.Made her more.
Series: Holding The Universe Together Across My Shoulders [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628440
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Alone In A Room

**Author's Note:**

> uh.... uh that season finale????? CAN THIS WOMAN NOT HAVE SEROTONIN

_ All I needed was the last thing I wanted - to be alone in a room.  _

The sound of a dulled spoon against stone was the only sound around her.

She couldn’t remember why she had had a spoon in her pocket at the time. Probably just habit after Robin Hood.

She didn’t particularly care. 

She sighed and dropped the utensil, falling back against the cold floor, matted hair splayed around her head like a faded, broken halo. Two-hundred and forty-three days. So many days - stuck. Still. Trapped. 

She hadn’t thought herself claustrophobic, but with each day she could feel an instinctive panic growing in her bones. 

_ Run. Get away. You’re not safe here. _

It was the same voice that had been following her for as long as she could remember. As a child (or, well, what she thought was a child) on Gallifrey, it had been there too, screaming in her hearts, desperate. She hadn’t understood at the time, why something had been so insistent she leave her home, where she  _ was  _ safe.

Well. Made sense now didn’t it. Gallifrey had never been here home. Sure, she’d felt out of place, but all her life she’d attributed it to the pompous attitude of the Citadel. 

Who knew she’d actually been completely out of place. Wrong planet. Wrong people. Wrong Universe. Wrong home.

She felt homesick for a place she didn’t know, but the constant dim grey of the cell left her with nothing to do but be sentimental.

She let out a long-suffering groan, squeezing her eyes shut. Pieces of disjointed memories flashed behind her eyes and she felt ill, but it was better than the alternative.

The alternative was reaching shadows and voices with no face. At least here she could try and learn everything that had been stolen from her. 

At least here, it wasn’t guilt that clawed her hearts, but anger. Anger she could use, make productive. Guilt left her weighted down, curled in the corner of her little cell and watching the stars glitter outside, wondering how many moments she was missing out on, how many lives she wasn’t saving sitting there with limbs of lead. Everything hurt, she just chose the lesser of two evils. 

Time passed, she wasn’t sure how much time, never was with no way to really tell, even the marks on the wall were estimates - anything to try and keep track. 

She laid there, splayed on the floor, breathing shallow and heartbeats slow, bits of memories flickering through her mind slow enough to touch but too fast to hold. 

She just wanted to piece everything together. 

She just wanted to know who she was - where she came from - any of it. 

All she’d been getting was more questions. 

Eventually, she blinked open her eyes but didn’t move, letting herself sink into the bone-deep exhaustion that glued her spine to the cold stone. 

It had been easy, then, with adrenaline pumping through her veins and panic and outrage coloring her sight red and hands shaky, to say that it was a gift, that the multitudes of unknowns in her hearts and mind had opened a whole new world.

Made her more.

And it had. She still believed that, somewhere. But it had also left her adrift, scrambling for a ledge to grasp onto and steady herself so she could stop and make sense of it all. It would have been easier in the TARDIS. With the warm lights and comforting presence at the back of her mind, the soft hums and quiver of the engine, everything around her alive and caring and familiar when everything was strange and foreign all over again. 

Instead, she was here. Surrounded by grey and the cold light of distant stars that felt as though they were mocking her as they watched. Where it was silent, and she felt so much anger and despair flitting around the edges of her consciousness from inmates she’d never seen around her. 

The Timeless Child. The outcast. Used and manipulated time and time again. Made to forget it all, who knew how many times. How many lives and loves lost. Forget the joy and pain.

Forget the sins now bowing her shoulders. 

Everything the Time Lords stood for. Every war crime, every atrocity, every death, every murder they commit in the name of their “superiority” was all because of her. Because she’d been unlucky enough to be found by a desperate race clinging to the idea of glory. 

They’d used her DNA, her birthright, her “gift” to excuse sitting to the side as cries for help echoed across the fabric of space-time. To excuse turning away from reaching hands and broken hearts.

To orchestrate the largest war in the Universe’s history. Decimate billions. 

All because a long time ago, she’d died and come back and someone had been around to see. 

All of it could be traced back to her - bloodstained hands and darkened hearts.

She’d created the Time Lords. She’d destroyed them. Mourned for them. Grieved and cried and fought for them. Fought and killed in their Time War and all that time they sat in their blood-red robes and watched. How many knew? 

An ancient and lonely god.

She’d brought them back. Shepherded them away like a mother with unruly children, made sure they were safe. She thought they deserved it. Her home deserved a second chance without her meddling. But it wasn’t her home.

And it had ended the same way. In flames and tears and blood and ash-covered children’s toys. 

Left her hearts with a dull burning rage and no one to direct it at but herself. 

An abused, lonely child, turned killer, responsible for the Universe's greatest tragedies.

The Doctor. A healer and wise man, with blank spots in their memories, but a kind smile on their face and ancient sad eyes. Always there to help.

The destroyer and the creator.

Two hearts.

Two identities, fighting against each other for their rights to exist.

Sitting up, a single tear trailed down her cheek and slipped off her chin.

She scratched another line into the wall.

_Every moment, every second, every trespass._

_Every awful thing, every broken dream._

**Author's Note:**

> shes not broken but she sure is bruised man


End file.
